


The Fleeting Value of Happiness

by out_there



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-30
Updated: 2007-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:24:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Everything comes at a cost.  Even happiness.</i></p><p>Spoilers for 2.09 "Cautionary Tales".</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fleeting Value of Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> Written after watching 2.09 but not beta'd. Hence, all mistakes are mine.

It's not until Mohinder’s turning the key in their front door that he stops to wonder. Stops and thinks about events.

He remembers calling Matt to explain that he needed to stay at the Company labs for a few more days, needed to test Claire's blood -- and it all comes down to blood: blood splattered across shattered lenses, blood on his hands, blood sitting in sterilised, refrigerated bags -- needed to see how Niki was faring.

And then he was walking out of Bob's hotel room, getting into a cab and calling the airport from the backseat, arranging the first flight home.

The trip is a blur to him, rushing by without any concrete moments to ground it. He can't remember looking at his watch or reading anything. Can't remember what the in-flight movie was. He must have fallen asleep and slept away the journey.

Standing at his own door, it suddenly feels strange that he can't remember why he needed to come home. The need was urgent, as if hearing Matt's voice was enough to shake him loose of the Company. As if he'd just needed a reminder that he was doing this for the two people left at home.

When he opens the door, Matt doesn't seem surprised to see him. If anything, it's the opposite: Matt's sitting at the table, chin propped up on one hand, watching the door. As if he'd been waiting, as if he'd expected Mohinder's return.

It touches Mohinder. Strikes him as foolishly romantic.

***

Life continues. It's surprisingly normal.

Every so often, Mohinder can't help thinking that he shot a man. He took a life. Sometimes, all he remembers is the bright sunlight in his eyes, remembers squinting and pulling a trigger, not really aiming, just scared and knowing he had to do something. Sometimes, he remembers the kick of the handgun, the ricochet of kinetic energy pushing on his wrist and shoulder, and the burnt-metal smell of gunpowder.

Sometimes, all he remembers is the moment before Bennet fell. How he stood there, still but strangely balance, head angled back. Mohinder had thought he'd missed, but then Bennet started to topple, started to fall backwards, twisting to his side slightly. The movement wasn't graceful; it was ugly and wrong. Like a rag-doll crumpling, dropped carelessly to the floor.

When he remembers that, Mohinder's stomach clenches and his throat tries to close up. But Matt's always there, always knows, always has a hand around his shoulders or lips against his cheek. It's enough to ward away the phantoms and the guilt. It's enough to clear his head, to leave him muttering that he did what he had to do, that he was acting to save two lives from Bennet's fury, that he did the best he could at the time.

Matt must get sick of hearing it, must be tired of listening to Mohinder repeat the truth over and over. He must. But every time, he listens. He nods and agrees. He holds Mohinder until the sharpness of the memories fade, until Mohinder feels a little sheepish for letting it get to him.

Sometimes, he wishes that Matt didn't always notice those moments, didn't always know exactly when Mohinder needs the reassurance of touch, but he does. Every time. It's slightly embarrassing, and out of that embarrassment, Mohinder asks, "Do I think louder?"

Matt scrunches his face up in confusion. "What?"

"When..." Takes a deep breath, needs it to force the words out. "When I start thinking about what happened in California, what I did to Bennet, you always seem to know. I was wondering if those thoughts are louder than others."

Matt shrugs against him, arms still loose around Mohinder's chest. "Maybe my powers are just getting stronger."

Mohinder slides his hands along Matt's wrists, wrapping his arms over Matt's. "Maybe," he says, and leans back into the embrace. It doesn't matter much.

***

Despite... everything that happened, life seems to become nearly normal. Molly's nightmares are gone, and with solid sleep every night, she's bright and cheery, the picture of a normal, happy child. While Mohinder's still working for the Company, he's negotiated a slightly different working relationship: he'll continue to study powers, to study their codes, to try to discover why his blood cured the original virus and yet has no effect on its mutations but that's all. No more field trips, no more leaving the city.

It's better. Good to have a stable home life, good for Molly to know that he'll always be home by 6pm, good for Mohinder to have regular sleeping hours. It's good for all of them.

Except Matt... There's something wrong. Mohinder notices little things -- shadows under his eyes, weariness in his movements, shoulders slouching as if supporting the weight of the world -- and worries about Matt's health, chides him to eat better. (Left to his own devices, Matt will always choose the option with the least nutritional value.)

It could be nothing, but there are times when Matt seems surprised, genuinely amazed, when Mohinder reaches over to him or leans in for an unexpected kiss. He feels the way Matt pulls back, like he's assessing a risk. When that happens, he feels so far away from Matt, as if he couldn't reach him if he tried.

Mohinder wonders if it's the job getting to Matt. Matt doesn't talk about it and doesn't share what he sees, but Mohinder can imagine easily enough. After seeing so much violence and cruelty, petty theft and harsh selfishness, the growing distance between them would make sense. Matt doesn't want to burden Mohinder with it, and being near someone makes it a lot harder to avoid discussing what's on your mind.

So he doesn't surprise Matt anymore. Doesn't sneak up on him in the kitchen. Doesn't drop a kiss to Matt's head as he walks past the couch.

He keeps meaning to talk to Matt about it, except when he asks, Matt shakes his head and says, "I think I'm coming down with something," or "I'm just a bit tired. Didn't sleep too well last night."

When Matt kisses him in bed -- so soft these days, so gentle, so sweetly careful of Mohinder -- the distance is gone. Matt's solid and real and definitely there, and Mohinder wonders if he's been imagining the rest.

***

The hospital calls Mohinder at 11.15am on Tuesday morning. A woman -- Mohinder doesn't catch her name, doesn't really try -- explains that Matt fell from the bottom level of a fire escape. He's apparently fine, but unconscious. Mohinder bites back the urge to point out that being unconscious proves Matt isn't fine; instead, he gets directions to the hospital.

He talks to a nurse, an intern and a doctor before he's satisfied that -- current comatose state notwithstanding -- Matt actually is fine. No broken bones, no internal injuries, just a nasty fall onto concrete. Then he hovers in the waiting room and waits for Matt to wake up.

He leaves to pick Molly up from school, then returns to the waiting room's hard plastic chairs with Molly's hand in his, and her new pink schoolbag over his shoulder. He tells her what happened in simple terms, describing a bad fall and that they're waiting for Matt to wake up, but she doesn't seem surprised.

"He's been like that for hours," she says. "Since recess."

"You could tell?"

Molly slouches in the plastic seat, and suddenly looks small and frightened, hiding behind the long fall of straight, brown hair. "I could feel it. Will he--"

"What, sweetheart?"

"Will he wake up soon?" she asks in a small voice.

"Oh, Molly." He wraps an arm around her thin shoulders, leaning over her. "Matt will be fine. I'm sure he'll wake up soon."

"Really?" She turns to look at him and that's when Mohinder notices that she's not worried, she's terrified. "Couldn't--"

"What?"

Frowning, she looks away. Tilts her head to stare at the floor and doesn't speak until there's a curtain of hair obscuring Mohinder's view of her face. "They kept the Nightmare Man asleep."

It's not a fear Mohinder had ever considered -- although children seem to distrust hospitals and doctors for a variety of strange reasons -- and for a moment, he's at a loss. He's not sure what to say to reassure her. "The Nightmare Man was a different circumstance. They're not going to keep Matt asleep."

"Could they?" Then softer, sounding close to tears, she adds, "If we asked them?"

"Molly!" He grabs her shoulders, gently pulling her around to see her face, her miserable expression.

"Don't you feel it? The pressure to do what Matt wants? It's always there, it's always--" She's crying now, tears slipping down her round cheeks, dropping from her chin. "You don't even feel it, do you? You don't feel the way he's always pushing and pulling, and you can't tell him to stop because you can't get the words out."

She hiccups a breath, and Mohinder does the one thing that makes sense right now: he gathers her into his lap, holds her tight against his chest. Stroking her hair, pressing a kiss against her temple, he thinks.

He thinks about what he remembers. About what happened in California.

For the first time, the memory is not only vivid -- horrific in it's clear, unnecessary violence -- but also feels important. It means something. It means something terrible: that he killed, that he acted without question, that his direct actions and choices resulted in this.

But it means something.

It doesn't feel unimportant. Like something he shouldn't bother thinking about. Like something he should forget and ignore. Like something that simply doesn't matter.

If he thinks about it in those terms...

There's a lot that hasn't really mattered lately.

...Matt's powers, if they'd grown or not.

...Molly's powers and the way that she never used them these days.

...how the Company acquired the samples Mohinder was using daily, how they tested the vaccines that showed promise.

It just didn't seem important. Molly and Matt were important, but everything else had faded, had blurred until he hadn't noticed it, hadn't thought about it at all.

Molly settles in his arms, going completely still. "Molly?" he asks, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.

"Matt's awake," she says sweetly, smiling. There are still tear tracks on her face and a wet patch on his shirt, but her expression right now is one of innocent happiness, childlike and natural. The inconsistencies are chilling.

"Stay here," Mohinder says, getting up and finding his way to Matt's room, leaving her sitting quietly on the blue plastic chairs, swinging her feet playfully.

Lying on the bed, Matt looks pale and unhealthy. More than that, he looks old. His cheeks are sagging slightly and there are rings under his eyes. Mohinder guesses it makes sense: if Matt has been using his powers almost constantly, it would require effort, would in the very least strain his concentration.

Then Matt opens his eyes -- warm brown eyes and a quick, adorable smile -- and says, "Hey."

"Hey," Mohinder replies, feeling relieved that Matt's okay and foolish for getting so worried. "You're okay?"

"Mild concussion, but I'm good to go," Matt says as Mohinder walks over to the bed. Matt smiles again. "Considering I survived a death-defying fall, I think I deserve at least a kiss."

"You probably have morning breath," Mohinder replies, but he leans down anyway. Matt's lips are a little dry but the kiss is warm and comforting. Mohinder pulls back a little and says, "Molly--"

He stops. There was something. Something Molly had said. Something he wanted to tell Matt.

But he can't remember what it was. He just has a vague feeling that... he's forgotten something.

It feels like it's right on the tip of his tongue, like some scrap of general knowledge trivia that will come to him at the strangest of times.

"What?" Matt says, sounding amused.

"She was worried," Mohinder improvises. "I think she wanted me to tell you something but I honestly can't remember what it was."

Matt smiles, sliding a hand around the back of Mohinder's neck. "If it's important, it'll come back to you."  



End file.
